


Being Alive

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Music, Romance, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some moments in life make you want to stand up and applaud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apple_buzz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=apple_buzz).



> Beta'd by [](http://zoeycleybourne.livejournal.com/profile)[**zoeycleybourne**](http://zoeycleybourne.livejournal.com/).

The snow was heavy enough to turn the dark rim of Dean's coat to powdery white, and constant enough that he didn't much feel like bothering to brush it off. It was useless to fight a snow this heavy. It came down as thick as fate and twice as merciless. He looked up and watched the flakes fall down from an eternity so far away that it was hard to believe one of its denizens walked by his side.

He didn't much like being out here at night, didn't like the concept of just slinking around a town hoping to catch a glimpse of a monster and not end up its prey in the meantime, but they didn't really have a choice in the matter. Nobody had seen the damn thing except for the suckers who were dragged underground by it, and they'd all turned up dead with their throats ripped out. It wasn't a nice sort of creature to be out there in the dark and waiting. Then again, most creatures weren't.

Sam had the thankless task of trying to dig the Impala out from the onslaught. Normally it wasn't the kind of task Dean was much likely to cede, but Sam had offered. A sort of early Christmas present designed to be a thank-you for saving his life in the previous job. That left Dean to hunt down the creature, and if Dean was in any danger these days it meant Castiel would be with him. Result: Here he was, walking through the snow looking like he'd just taken a bath in God's dandruff, next to a guy who looked, pretty much, like every snowflake was falling precisely to take its perfect place on the top of his head. Cas in the snow was something brilliant and, well, angelic. It kind of hurt to look at him. Dean did his best not to.

"Look," he said gruffly, "I'm not a big fan of the whole Christmas season Norman Rockwell postcard thing, so as much as you might be obligated to wax poetic about good will toward men..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh. Well. Never mind, then." They were walking past the parking lot of a church now, full of cars that were getting steadily snowed under. It was a Thursday night. Why the hell was the church full of people?

"Hang on a sec," he said, stopping in his tracks. "There's something wrong here."

"I don't think--"

"Sh!" Dean cautioned him with a finger to the lips and crept through the snowy thicket of cars to the side of the building. There he plastered himself to the wall, like he was about to slip through the door with guns blazing the minute the time was right.

He could hear the shuffle of feet. Talking. And then, a sharp, bright tapping noise -- and, without so much as a scream, complete silence.

"Dean." Castiel was too close to him, looking far too intense. Dean had learned to ignore that by now. He silenced him again and crept closer to the entrance.

"There's something in there," he said, "Come on."

And he burst through the door to find himself facing something he'd heard of, but never seen up close before.

A choir rehearsal.

* * *

_For the glory of the Lord will be revealed..._

The sea of faces stopped after that one line and stared. The director, a plump little woman wearing what looked more or less like a circus tent over black leggings, stepped forward and eyed the two intruders warily. "Can we help you?" she said sharply.

Castiel began to speak, but Dean had already wheeled into adrenaline-powered overcompensation mode. "Uh, we were thinking about joining the choir!" he declared cheerfully, then looked horrified at himself for having said that.

"We were not," Castiel hissed at him.

"Actually, not so much we as he," Dean said, the big grin now intractably plastered on. He grabbed Castiel by both shoulders and thrust him forward.

"Are you members of the church?" the woman said, her eyes dark with suspicion.

"Well, no, but..."

"We are believers," Castiel volunteered. Dean held back a snort.

She looked them over. "Oh, really?"

"Lady," Dean muttered, "you have no idea."

"Well, I suppose we have room for one more. What part do you sing, young man?" she said, turning interested eyes on Castiel.

"I don't know."

The choir was buzzing with intrigued whispers now, and the woman rapped her baton on the music stand. "All of you, wait just one moment." Dean stared at that baton. How did something so small make such a damn big sound? He'd thought it had to be some ungodly creature licking its chops.

"You," the director said, pointing at Castiel. "Come over here to the front, please. Can you read music?" She tossed him a thick booklet.

"Handel's Messiah," Castiel said. "I recognized it on my way in." Dean's eyebrows flew up. Of course, he thought dully. Of course an angel should know his holy music.

"Oh, you know something about it, then. The tenor line, Mr..."

"Smith," said Dean.

"Jones," said Castiel.

They looked at each other.

"Smith-Jones," Dean said. "His mother was one of those liberated types." He was enjoying himself now, and his eyes flickered away to one of the altos, who was winking at him.

"Very good, then. Mr. Smith-Jones. Two bars' introduction, and we'll get you sorted out into the right section." She nodded at the organist, who put his feet to the pedals and started to play.

Two bars of introduction later, Dean's entire world changed.

The whole room stilled at the first notes. Castiel's voice lifted into the rafters and resounded throughout the hollow body of the simple church, warm and rich. It soared soulfully on high notes, ached with meaning through each change in pitch and tone, and spun on a perfect vibrato as the last, long note echoed off the stained-glass window piled up white with drifting snow.

The director had dropped her baton halfway throughout. The whole choir was standing stock still.

Dean realized he'd sunk into one of the pews. His hand was shaking on the dark wood. That had been Cas just now. A little bit of the real Cas, bright to blinding, escaping on the breath of a song and lifting to heaven.

Along with everyone else, he burst into applause.

"What did you say your first name was, Mr. Smith-Jones?" the director said, sounding like she'd just run a marathon or had really good sex.

"Castiel," he said.

"And the voice of an angel you do have, dear!" She squeaked on the final word. "Just one moment..."

As she struggled to double that rotund body over to retrieve her baton. Dean found his feet again and came to Castiel's side. "Dude," he said. "You didn't tell me you could do that."

Castiel gave him blank eyes. "It hardly seemed relevant."

"Relevant, nothing. That was afrigginmazing. Is that... I mean, can all angels sing like that, or is that because of the body you're in, or what?"

Castiel put a hand to his throat. "The instrument is good, yes," he said. "But yes, we do have music. Unfortunately, there is not much time for it in this war."

Dean's eyes glowed, a muted brilliance. "You ought to make time."

"Dean, we have to go. There is still a creature to..."

"Mister Smith-Jones." The choir director was motioning with her baton. "Please, come stand next to Edgar there." A red-haired man raised his hand in a simple wave.

Castiel turned on her with a serious face. "My apologies. I have to--"

"Go, go, go!" Dean was grinning. "Come on."

_"Dean."_

Dean found his arm and squeezed lightly. "Make time," he urged. Castiel held his gaze a second and then found his place among the choir.

The rehearsal continued. Dean settled back down, sprawled, in the pew. A sort of warmth and contentment was draping over him, a soft blanket of feeling. It wasn't the reaction he usually had in churches. Usually, the architecture spoke to him of arrogance and the sound of a choir was just that of preachy morality, taught by those who had no idea what true horrors lived in the world. Maybe it was just knowing that some of that was true. But at the same time, he was pretty sure it was Castiel's presence that was comforting him. He figured he could stand religion if Cas was a part of it. Even if the rest of angelkind seemed to be a haystack of dicks.

And the music was nice, for classical music. There was something admirable about a bunch of voices blending together like that. Castiel's voice, so distinctive a moment ago, had faded into the stream of song. Dean hadn't really listened to choir music before, but he thought  
he got what made it so good. At its best, it was like each section had one voice. Not a host of sopranos and a clutch of altos, but one soaring song, one gentle harmony, and instead of tenors and basses en masse, just two strong supports to give the melody its foundation. It had to take some serious talent. Dean knew that when he tried to sing, all that came out of his throat was--

Oh, shit. Throats. As in ripped ones. As in a monster. Still out there.

God, what a complete dick he was. He'd totally forgotten.

He rose and locked eyes with Castiel. _Stay there,_ he mouthed, pointing a finger at him. _I'll be back._ And he rose and walked to the back of the sanctuary. The choir sang him a final _Hallelujah_ as he opened the door and left.

* * *

After everything, the monster actually went fairly easily. A bit of iron here, a line of salt there, and that was all, folks. The girl it had taken wept and clutched at Dean desperately as he lifted her out of the ravine where the thing had made its home, surrounded by skulls and smelling like rotting things. The snow muted the smell a bit, but it was still pretty bad. He tried desperately to breathe through his mouth the whole way back up to civilization.

When he returned to the church, the rehearsal was just letting out. He caught a glimpse of the familiar tan trenchcoat within a ring of scarves and woolen hats, and stood back, suppressing a laugh, as Castiel was accosted by his fellow singers and pressed with a storm of compliments and questions. Castiel caught his eye and gave him a pleading look. Dean just leaned against a lamppost and watched him suffer. It was good for him. It'd build character.

"I'm sorry," Castiel was saying to an extremely attentive girl -- the very same alto Dean had been winking at earlier, Dean realized with a frown. "My friend. I have to go." He nudged his shoulders toward Dean, and the girl turned and reddened. _Busted_, Dean thought with a short laugh. Well, who could blame her? Two handsome guys like them.

Castiel shuffled through the crowd across the white-frosted sidewalk to join Dean. "Were you able to kill the creature?"

"You think I'd be here if I wasn't?" Dean waved at the girl, who slunk away to her car sheepishly. He laughed. "Oh, man. You are the star of the show tonight. Nice going." He clapped Castiel on the back, a motion that used to draw a startled sputter. Castiel had gotten used to Dean's mannerisms fairly quickly, to the extent that Dean worried he'd never surprise him again. And here Castiel was still full of surprises. It was enough to make a guy feel inadequate.

They walked in silence for a time, their footsteps shuffling in the snow. "So... you had a good time?" Dean said. It felt weirdly like small talk, but then again, Dean was feeling weirdly like Cas was a stranger. Hearing him sing had been like meeting him for the first time all over again.

"I suppose." Castiel's frown meant he really wasn't sure what constituted a good time. "They are very attentive."

"Uh-huh." Dean's eyebrows lifted. "But the singing. You liked that part, right?"

"Yes." Castiel stopped. His lips were jittering with something that probably wanted to be a smile. "I felt... very free. As though I were closer to heaven."

"You looked like you were in heaven," Dean said. "Or somewhere close to it. You should have seen your face, man."

"It was odd, though. To sing with humans." His brow furrowed. "I also felt much closer to them. It was like being in two worlds at once."

Something in his expression made Dean want to stop and stare at him. Castiel looked... moved. Like something had touched his heart. And that filled Dean with inexplicable joy. He gave in to the urge, leaned against the metal railing of a fence and just watched for a minute.

"We should go," Castiel said, cuffing and uncuffing his sleeves.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Sorry."

It really was just like talking to a stranger. He didn't know what to do with himself.

"So is it just holy music, then?" he finally said. "That you like."

Castiel's face was placid. "All music is holy."

"But I mean, not just music about how God is so awesome. I like songs that remind me of my own life, my own experience, you know?" Dean dug his hands into his jeans pocket. The streetlights were pooling golden circles of radiance on the quiet sidewalk. It felt like a movie set, and he wanted to sit back and watch the drama unfold.

"Sing something for me," he said abruptly.

Castiel turned toward him. He'd paused directly beneath one of the streetlights, and Dean thought for a moment he was seeing part of Castiel's true form, the sudden, brilliant aura that illuminated his shoulders. But it was the glow of the light, nothing more.

"I don't think I can sing the kind of music that you generally enjoy, Dean."

"Doesn't matter what I enjoy. Matters what you like to sing. Come on, man." He looked up at the streetlight, a blinding white against the flurries of dark-shadowed snow. "You got your own spotlight and everything. Just… sing something."

Castiel appraised him. "There is one song. I don't think you're familiar with it."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Castiel remained silent.

"Well?" Dean waved his hands. "Go on, go on!"

Castiel looked down at the snow. Their footprints had circled around each other and made a fingerprint swirl in the circle of light. Dean stepped back, into the darkness. Castiel watched a few feathery flakes fall by his face. He sang as softly as if his audience was that one snowflake right before the tip of his nose.

_Somebody hold me too close,  
Somebody hurt me too deep  
Somebody sit in my chair  
And ruin my sleep  
And make me aware  
Of being alive_

As before, the notes were that of another man, a man who had known passion and despair and mortality. This could not be Castiel. Not singing like this. Not with a voice that spoke of everything that Castiel was not.

Unless that was the point.

His voice gained strength, and the vowels brightened on the sustained notes. He was looking across the street now, or even further, almost unaware of himself as he sang.

_Somebody force me to care  
Somebody make me come through  
I'll always be there, as frightened as you_

Dean was kissing him before the next words could find their way out.

He didn't plan it, he didn't think of it, it just happened, as inevitable as the next note on a scale. He slid into it, and it came naturally, warm and bright, The streetlight's glow filtered through his closed eyelids. An unsteady hand rested on his hip, then traveled up his back. When the final moment of the kiss faded out, when his eyes reopened to see Castiel's face in front of his, he felt like applauding.

Cas' mouth curled around Dean's name, quavering. His eyes were smoldering coals in the pale set of his face. He hadn't removed his hand from Dean's back, and the pressure was warmer than anything Dean's thin coat could provide.

Dean felt himself smile. Something in his brain was panicking, telling him he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself. He'd never wanted to smile more than at this moment. "It was a nice song," he said.

Castiel touched Dean's chin with hesitant fingers. "Thank you."

"I just... I..." He shrugged. "I had no idea."

Bright eyes lifted to his. "Neither did I."

A snowflake fell onto Dean's bottom lip. Castiel leaned in to taste it.

Dean gazed at him, mouth parted and tingling with the weight of a kiss. "You keep on surprising me."

"I could say the same." Castiel's murmur was almost reverent.

"So." Dean tugged him into motion. "Going back next week?"

"I'm _not_ joining a choir, Dean." He gave a schoolboy's obstinate frown.

Dean laughed. Castiel's fingers felt warmer against his already. They walked on.

*end*

_[Here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-WrRgqevoE) is a link to a video of how I imagine Castiel must sing that song. The singer is Hugh Panaro; the song is "Being Alive" from the musical "Company."_


End file.
